


Awakenings

by TirNanOg89



Series: Past Is Prologue [2]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TirNanOg89/pseuds/TirNanOg89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets kidnapped, again, and finds out John is not quite who he thought he was, and nor is he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakenings

AWAKENINGS  
By Tir Na nOg

CHAPTER ONE

 

As Sherlock started to wake he stayed in the same position and kept his breathing slow and even as if he were still asleep. It was amazing what idiots would say around a supposedly sleeping hostage. As usual the incompetent fools didn’t realise he was awake and were nattering on brainlessly.

“So how old do you think he is then?”  
“Looks about mid thirties to me.”  
“Idiot! The whole point is that they look normal! That’s why it takes so long to find ‘em! This one just don’t know when to keep ‘is head down an’ ‘is mouth shut! Gotta try makin’ a name fur ‘is self by lookin’ smart!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder at the lack of sanity, diction and general brain cells of the man and hoped to God he was an aberration and not the standard of those that had managed to kidnap him. He would probably have to shoot himself if not. He wondered what or who ‘They’ were? It was quite insulting really, it’s not like he ever wanted a ‘name’, he just wanted to not be bored anymore, then John had to go and write his blasted blog! Talking of which, John was taking his time finding him. Or maybe not, he had no idea how long he had been unconscious for and no windows to tell him what time it was so no way of telling how long he had in fact been here. 

“Well then, why’d ya bother askin’ me? Ya just tryin’ to make me look thick! You aint the boss a’ me mate! Tryin’ a make yur self look good! The boss aint ‘er ta show off fur.”

Sherlock thought ‘trying’ was an understatement, as he really didn’t need any help in that department, but at least he now knew they were the bottom of the food pile so he wouldn’t have to shoot himself. 

“Don’t need ma ‘elp with lookin’ thick! An’ the boss’ll be ‘ere soon enough, we bin waitin’ fur hours! God I’m bored!”

Sherlock couldn’t agree more. This was unbearably boring and he’d only been conscious for five minutes, come on John! 

“You do realise ‘watchin’ an’ waitin’s wat ya signed up fur, right? That’s why we’s called The Watchers!”  
“Yeah, well, they dint say nofin’ ‘bout hours ‘n’ hours sat watchin’ a bloke who’s bin knocked out! Thought they’d at least be walkin’ round, doin’ sumat not tied to a chair!”

Umm, Watchers, really? And what pray tell, or whom, do they watch? Whoever they were they were either very short staffed or kept a few imbeciles around for cannon fodder. Probably the former, or else why tell the fodder so much that they could inadvertently share? Scotland Yard may not be the most intelligent bunch but they certainly weren’t so bad as to not be able to catch and interrogate these morons. He was tied to a chair and hadn’t even opened his eyes yet and he had already deduced that they were in an old abandoned shipping warehouse on the docks.   
The imbeciles watching over him are very new members of a group called ‘The Watchers’ and couldn’t wait to impress the new boss, who was probably not much further up the food chain than they were and had not organised his kidnapping on his own, it had been a collaboration of not-so-like-minds that thought he was a particular type of ‘Them’ that are older than they look and very good at hiding their presence but highly prized by the group. The ‘boss’ the morons keep referring to, was probably in a meeting with his boss’s trying to decide what to do with him now that they have him, and having a hard time coming to an agreement, so a committee of some sort.   
It wasn’t long before he heard the muted opening of an outer door, muffled by at least two walls and to his rear. The imbeciles had left him between the door and their selves. It took only seventy seconds for the next door to open and he could hear the footfalls of the man entering. Forty seconds to the next door, same steady pace, not too hurried but slightly worried, and the morons had finally heard the new arrival.

“Great! The boss is ‘ere!”

The twit sounded like an overeager puppy! And where the hell was John? The man finally opened the last door just behind and slightly to the left of him and walked in. 

“Ah, I see our guest hasn’t woken yet”

Another imbecile.

“Right, the Committee has decided that it would be imprudent to experiment on the subject at this time. First we will try to reason with it, it is probably very old, considering it’s level of intelligence, so if we promise it safety from The Game it will probably tell us all we need to know about the other Immortals it has met and how it has stayed below our radar for so long. Then when we have everything we need from it we can take it to the labs and find out everything else we need to know about it.” 

The man sounded frustrated and disappointed that he wouldn’t get to take a scalpel to Sherlock straight away, though Sherlock couldn’t help but be a little glad about it. He sounded way too happy about the idea for comfort. And also, where the hell was John? 

“Ok, we’ll have to remove it from the chair to get it to the car. There is far too great a chance of being seen. We had best get on with it before it wakes up, I don’t know how much longer that sedative is going to last.”

The three men started shuffling around the room, obviously trying to cover any evidence they had been there. Of which there must have been plenty by the noise and commotion going on. Sherlock almost gave himself away laughing at the sheer lunacy of letting morons watch a captive in a well-travelled area that they had to clean before leaving. Apparently the ‘boss’ was not quite so amused if his ranting at the imbeciles was anything to go on. However, it did cover the sounds of the outer doors opening quite nicely.   
Someone new was entering the warehouse slowly and calmly, almost nonchalantly wandering towards them. That was a pace very well known to him. Only John could come across that calm while rescuing him! Sherlock almost wondered if Lestrade was waiting outside but he knew that a) Lestrade would never knowingly let John go in alone, b) John wouldn’t carry his gun with Lestrade so close and c) John very definitely had his gun, his pace was very slightly different with the weight of it in the back of his trousers.   
At this point Sherlock almost wanted John to go back out and wait a while to get him, just so he could find out what questions they were planning to ask him, the problem was not knowing how much patience the head moron would have when he realised Sherlock couldn’t answer him. All things considered he thought it best that John get him out now and wonder about the questions later. This was another thing that would never have been a consideration before he met John. Before John, cerebral satisfaction had always come before safety, in-fact, safety hadn’t even been a thought, as proven by the damn cabbie John had killed for him. Before John he hadn’t even realised how self-destructive his need to be right actually was.   
Not that it had made much difference, he still had to be right and his mind was still paramount. Now, though, he would think twice about putting him self in danger as he knew John would follow and though he really didn’t care what happened to him, now that he knew what life was like with John he couldn’t stand the thought of life without him. 

“Right, time to get out of here.”

SHIT!!! Sherlock clearly heard the ‘boss’ pull a gun and as he heard John open the door he felt the gun against his chest and wondered just for a moment how John was going to get him out of this one. Then there was blinding pain and everything went black, just as he heard Johns service revolver cock and fire several shots.

 

John knew where Sherlock was, he could feel him, he always could. Once he had figured out that The Watchers were holding him it hadn’t taken long to figure out where they would take him. Once he was in the general area he could feel him and walked calmly into the warehouse. When he opened the final door he immediately took in the situation and sighed, this would take some explaining. One of the men had a gun to Sherlock’s chest, his finger tightening on the trigger. John shot him straight between the eyes then, turned on the other two. It was the work of seconds to dispatch them, two shots and then all that was left was the clean up. Well, cleaning Sherlock up at least, the others could rot for all he cared, either The Watchers would clean up or the police would, he didn’t care. He took a moment to cut the ties holding Sherlock to the chair and laid him on the floor. He striped Sherlock’s jacket and shirt, grateful they had at least taken off his coat and so not damaged it.   
It didn’t take long to strip and clean Sherlock then re dress him in his coat ready to take him home to revive. He knew the first time was the worst and the longest, and he kinda hoped Sherlock never got used to the feeling. Unfortunately he had long since become used to the sudden wrench back to life, the momentary surprise of being back. He had ‘died’ so many times he had literally lost count. He still remembered his first death though, that one would remain with him for the rest of his hopefully very long life. He smiled, he used to hate the idea of living forever, the only reason he was still alive was his hard headed refusal to let any bastard beat him in a fight, but now, with the thought of unending years with Sherlock at his side, he was truly content for the first time in his life. Now he just had to persuade the idiot to stay with him and, more importantly, keep it secret from the rest of the world. God help him!

****************** 

Sherlock woke with a gasp and sat bolt upright. What. In. The. Name. Of. Einstein’s Undies?!?!?!?!?!?  
A single glance round told him he, or rather they, had recently got home; he could hear John in the kitchen making a cup of tea. He knew he had been seriously injured; the gun had been against his chest, right over his heart. He had felt the bullet enter him and that had been that, game over, no more boredom at least. He should be DEAD but he plainly wasn’t. So again, what in the name of Einstein? For the first time since he could remember he had only one thought in his head.

“JOHN!”   
“Yes?”

How dare he be so, so, so ‘John’! Sherlock was having a minor psychological meltdown! His mind had stopped on a single thought and wouldn’t budge, all he could think was ‘John’. 

“John!”  
“You said that already.”  
“John!!!”  
“And again, you going for one more or have you changed the record?”  
“JOHN!!!”  
“Right you are. Drink your tea, maybe that’ll reboot your hard drive.”

Sherlock just looked at him blankly until the cup was pushed into his hand. He automatically grasped the cup but that was as far as it went. John sighed and shook his head while using his own hand to guide Sherlock’s cup to his lips, tipping it slightly for him to sip. Sherlock grunted, that actually seemed to have worked! 

“John! What in the name of Einstein’s undies????”  
“Well, it’s an improvement at least, although I do have to wonder why at a moment like this your second thought is about Mr. Einstein’s undergarments, nice to know the first person you thought of was me though.”

John’s smirk made Sherlock’s stomach flutter the same as it always did, so he knew things weren’t that awful. Though that didn’t stop him from glaring at him. How could he take this so lightly? John sighed again.

“So, not a lot of point in telling you it was a dream eh? No, thought not. Right, so you died. It didn’t stick, it never will unless someone decapitates you, so avoid that eh? And yes that buzz in the back of your head is me, well, it’s my quickening, don’t ask, I have no idea who gave it such a stupid name. It’s why we can’t die; it fixes everything, even aging, so you wont. Can’t fix decapitation though. Someone takes your head, they get your quickening too, supposed to be your strength and shit, personally I think its bull. I don’t feel any stronger today than I did after the first time I died.”

“They thought I was immortal! Impertinent amoebas thought it was the only reason I am capable of using more than four brain cells! Just because I observe instead of floating brainlessly through my existence accepting life on face value, because I deduce instead of floundering in a miasma of putrid hormones, because I use my brain instead of letting the TV tell me what to think!”

John laughed. A full on uproarious belly laugh, that ended with him curled on the floor arms wrapped round his middle almost hysterical. Sherlock just stood watching him with an incredulous look on his face in stunned silence. John finally seemed to be gaining control of his self when he looked up at Sherlock’s face and completely lost it again. Sherlock quickly tired of this and huffed derogatorily and flounced to the sofa, where he threw himself down and curled into a foetal ball. When John finally regained control of his self he crawled over to the sofa and laid his head on it, resting it against Sherlock’s back.

“Oh love, that was just so you! I worried for a while there, I thought it might be too much for that beautiful mind of yours. Goddess, you had me worried there for a moment.”

Sherlock refused to let him get away with it. He had just been shot, no, KILLED, and John was laughing at him!

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, forgive me? Please? It was just relief Sherlock, please forgive me? Don’t be mad, I just got you back.”  
“You laughed at me!”  
“I know, I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m just so relieved to have you back and finally be able to tell you everything.”

At that Sherlock sat upright, swinging his legs to the floor, which with where Johns head was meant one leg either side of him, and stared at him.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘everything’? How much more is there? I need facts John! Facts! All of them, now!”

John chuckled again and rested his arms across Sherlock’s legs, rested his chin on them and looked up at him through his eyelashes.

“It’s rather a long story to tell in one go. I’m not as young as I look; I’ve been around for a while. Would you like me to start from the beginning and bore you to tears, or would you rather ask me questions and I’ll answer them?”  
“The latter of course! When were you born?”

John smiled up at him, at least he was smart enough to ask one question and wait for an answer not just reel off a million questions and expect him to remember and answer them all in one go.

“1034, in what is now Dorset.”  
“You were around for the Battle of Hastings?”  
“Bit before that, though I did die in 1066, run through by a Roman, not good, only BC.”

John grinned as he answered and then more at Sherlock’s face. He had that manic look he got at the beginning of a really good mystery.

“BC??”   
“Yup.”  
“Dorset?”  
“Yup.”  
“Druid?”  
“Druid Warrior Priest.”  
“Fitting.”  
“Yup.”  
“How many wars?”  
“Ah, all of ‘em I think.”  
“Of course. Hang on! Harry! Your past, all of it! You lied to me! You said I got it all right!”  
“Except Harry’s a girl, and I didn’t lie, everything you said was right, John Watson has been and done everything you saw. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep up a ‘psychosomatic limp’ and a tremor? Really? For almost a full year! And I won’t mention the physiotherapy, what a nightmare! At least meeting you gave me a reason to drop the act. Of course, Mycroft first gave me the excuse when he noticed the lack of tremor that first time he ‘kidnapped’ me. Dozy sod, for all his brains he still didn’t realize that I just forgot about the bloody tremor while trying to convince myself that he was too insignificant to blow my cover killing him for his damned impertinence. I like to think it proves what an exceptional actor I am though, and you truly amazed me with that, you still do. Don’t sulk, your acuity is stunning but when you pout I just want to bite that beautiful lip and kiss the pout right off your face, ‘married’ to your work or not.”

Sherlock just stared at him for a moment, not sure whether to ignore that remark or follow it up. John didn’t help; he just continued to stare at him through those long lashes. Eventually Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“Come back to that later!”  
“I was planning on it!”  
“Over 3,000 years old, and you still can’t deduce a pair of trainers?”  
“Not really my thing. My swordsmanship is second to none, marksmanship too as you may have noticed, I can make and use any weapon you care to mention, pre-gunpowder, and I can use anything since that that the army would let me play with. Put me in a war room or battlefield and I will out think even you, every time. I have narrowed down Moriarty’s main base to seven possibilities in London and I can tell you he will start goading you again within the year, but not in the next six months. I can’t be more precise on his base yet as you haven’t told me who his second in command is. I have run up to six battles concurrently, during the American Civil War on the South side, and won every one, we only lost because Grant had greater numbers and didn’t care how many died, Lee did. And I haven’t said anything about Moriarty because you wouldn’t have listened.”

Sherlock just looked at him for a while then nodded, he was right.

“The Game, explain.”  
“Well, long story short, most Immortals think that only one can survive ‘The Gathering’ which is apparently imminent. So we all have to carry round swords and kill each other so one of us can eventually rule the world. Load of bollocks if you ask me. As far as I can tell all you get are their memories and that is a mixed blessing.”   
“How many others?”  
“Not a clue, The Watchers keep a chronicle on any of us they come across so you’d have to ask them about numbers, and even they don’t know all of us. They still don’t know me and I’ve been around for three thousand years.”  
“How many do you know?”  
“Mmm, quite a few but I have no idea how many are still around, plenty of them aren’t.”

Sherlock shivered in a surprisingly good way at the slightly dangerous tone John said that in, the smirk didn’t hurt either. He had been noticing little things like this for a while now; certain looks or tones from John gave him a warm and tingly feeling in his gut that he had never come across before. He had experimented with sex before, when he was younger, didn’t much like it, it was messy and ultimately pointless as he had no intention of procreating, but for some reason John quite regularly made him think of sex. At first it had been an annoyance, it was most inconvenient and mostly poorly timed, during a case. Of late he would push it to the back of his mind while working and then pull it back out later, when the boredom threatened. He could while away several hours going over what had affected him and why, before he started to become uncomfortable and generally badgered John for a cup of tea. Right now the chance to question John was too compelling to wait so he again shelved the thought and feeling and got back to the mystery at hand.

“Was I ‘dead’ dead or just almost dead? How does it work? What about the damage?”  
“From what I have gathered, from personal experience as well as observation of others, the first time you die creates a ‘default setting’ for the body, any time you die after that you return to default. Unless there is damage to the neck, for some reason, that will stay with you, kind of like an ‘Achilles Heel’, the one weakness on an otherwise perfect canvas. And we are ‘clinically dead’ until we revive. The time varies, the first is the longest from what I know, but it depends on the severity of the damage. Head trauma will take the longest.”  
“Elementary, the brain is the most complex organ in the body. So I needn’t worry about the infirmities of age degrading my mind?”

Though Sherlock asked the question in exactly the same tone as every other question so far, John could feel the anticipation emanating from every pore of his friends body and he ‘knew’ with out a doubt that this must have been a major worry for him for a long time. Which made perfect sense with Sherlock, his mind was everything to him, his body and its ‘infirmities’ merely ‘transport’ for his ‘hard drive’. John smiled up at him and saw the very brief flash of pure relief cross his face.

“No, not at all. You will always be you, from now till you loose your head, at which point you wont care. I do have to point out, though, that that can be a problem in its self. We don’t age. Though, you can disguise yourself so well that I don’t suppose it will be much of a problem for you, but eventually we will have to leave this life behind and move on. I have met a few that tried to hang on too long and suffered greatly for it. I was lucky with my first death, the Druids were very nature oriented, and not superstitious like many others of that time and our ‘leader’ was also an Immortal. I was treated just the same after my ‘death’ as I was before. It was seen as a gift from the Goddess. I know many were banished from their clans, seen as unclean or inhuman. Many were killed over and over in more and more horrifying ways to try and clean the ‘human’ body of the ‘demonic’ entity that had ‘obviously’ inhabited it. My warrior band rescued many Immortals under the guise of ‘cleansing’ them. Looking back it is both hilarious and terrifying, but we would drag the poor unfortunate away for a ‘secret’ ritual then burn an effigy on a pyre after ‘cleansing’ them. We would take them from the area, train them in the sword, teach them the rules and send them on their way once they were ready. Speaking of rules, there aren’t many but they are not the kind of rules you can bend and break. I mean this very seriously; you cannot kill on Holy Ground, of whatever religion or faith, ever! This is not something to experiment with Sherlock! I have seen the results and it was not pretty! The poor idiots didn’t even realise it was consecrated ground. I was on one of my semi regular pilgrimages back home; I was not far, within sight, of our main banquet site when I saw them. They just thought it was a convenient clearing, not realising it was Holy Ground. I’m not sure I can even really explain what happened; yes I will be as accurate as possible.”

There he grinned up at Sherlock cheekily and loved the flash of mirth he got in response.

“Of course you will, you know me.”  
“Yeah, I certainly do, but not as well as I would like to, yet. Anyway, I arrived just as they started the fight, I hadn’t heard a battle beforehand, and I yelled, to try and get their attention, tell them it was Holy Ground, but I was too far away. That was both lucky and unlucky. Unlucky because I might have been able to prevent what happened next but lucky in that I was outside the blast radius. The elder of the two, Gaius, drew first blood and that was as far as they got. I don’t know if it’s something to do with the two quickenings or if a mortal would get the same results, and I don’t want to find out! But as soon as the blood hit the ground there was a quake, the ground just seemed to split. They both froze, and then there was a terrible wrenching pain as their quickenings just seemed to, leap, from their bodies, almost in protest, and collided between them. I didn’t know all of this at the time, most of it I found out when I finally came to my senses days later. But when the quickenings met they just exploded! It levelled the ground around them and I think it vaporised the bodies. That clearing is now about five times the size it was, I still go back there and nothing has grown on that land since. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t been there, but they merged and I took the full force of a double quickening. Not something I ‘ever’ want to do again by the way. It left me laid out, insensate, for three days. When I finally came to my senses I had assimilated their memories, but it took ‘three’ days! I have had difficult quickenings before, some take hours to settle, it’s like they can’t accept that they lost and are still fighting me, but that was ridiculous! I still don’t know if it actually killed me or just knocked me out, but there was quite a while where I was completely unaware. It certainly didn’t feel like three days while I was laid there. There’s also some bull about not interfering with a fight, it should be one on one. Honour and all that, but that’s more of an advisory thing. If someone comes for you I will shoot them, and I expect the same of you. I’ve even heard of head-hunters that take a team of mortals with them, just to make sure they win, others will shoot their opponent first then take their head, which is just pathetic really! I’m happy to shoot someone, but to take their head while they’re dead is ridiculous. But there’s good and bad in all kinds. Darius was a priest I knew; he stayed on Holy Ground for most of his life, avoiding the Game, and he’s not the only one. He was eventually tricked, I believe, drawn out and taken as an easy, old, head”. 

By this point Sherlock should have been getting antsy. They had been talking for quite some time but he wasn’t bored. He was fascinated, even though there was no mystery to solve. But John was being deadly serious with this and natural curiosity aside, he wouldn’t be experimenting with Holy Ground. 

“The other rule, serious one, is keeping it all secret. No one can know. It may all seem a little cloak-and-dagger but just think about it for a while. Engage that beautiful mind and think what the Government, any government, would do with us if they found us. Think what Mycroft would do!”

Sherlock shuddered at that. He could imagine myriad things Mycroft would do with John if he found out he couldn’t die, and none of them were good! The best-case scenario he could think of was John as an undying soldier, sent on ‘suicide’ missions continuously, for the rest of his very long life! No, the governments must never know. John looked at the very serious and slightly spooked look on Sherlock’s face and decided he had made his point, and now he needed to lighten the mood a little.

“One good thing is that we don’t really need to breath, we could, literally, walk from here to America! Not sure about a vacuum, but I assume the same would hold true. It also means I give great head!!”

And Sherlock actually blushed! For the first time since he could remember he flushed right from his hair to his toes, most of which John could see because he was still only wearing his unbuttoned coat from the waist up. John just smirked at him and Sherlock would swear the blush got worse, he certainly felt hotter. And he really didn’t know what to do with his self. He just sat there, blushing, and wriggled around a bit in his seat, not sure what to do next. John dragged his gaze from his waistband back up to his eyes, his own eyes smouldering.

“You know, I’ve been dying to change your mind since you told me you were married to your work, but I didn’t think it was fair until you knew exactly what you would be getting. Now you know, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I will be pursuing you. I will have you in my bed eventually; it just depends on how long you hold out now that I can begin. Just so’s you know.” 

Sherlock gulped loudly. He couldn’t really say he was surprised, John’s interest had been plain from the start despite his protestations, but he was a little worried and a lot what he could only consider turned on. Now this was what his experiments into sex had lacked. Despite trying he had never found another person vaguely sexy, he had gone through the motions but never ‘wanted’ to. He had understood, academically, that people killed and died for love and everything in-between, but now he thought he knew ‘Why’! John had killed for him, and he knew he would kill for John, but he had always reasoned that it was because John was useful; he was handy to keep around, like a good tool. It wasn’t until Moriarty had spoken of John like a pet that he had questioned that, hearing someone else speak of John in such a derogatory manor had incensed him. In a completely unreasonable way. He hadn’t been able to understand why it had bothered him so much until now. But it was illogical, unreasoned, and completely senseless! And apparently John could also read his mind.

“Oh no you don’t! You do not try to logic your way out of this! You cannot deduce matters of the heart Sherlock, and this is a matter of the heart! Get used to it and save yourself the trouble of trying to get out of it, you can’t. The sooner you accept that the better off we’ll both be. You will be mine, as I am already yours, and there is no way around it.”  
“Already mine?”  
“Of course, Idiot. You can’t tell me you didn’t know? I killed a man for you the day after we met! I don’t kill for just anyone you know, I don’t go round shooting people for the fun of it! Why else did you think I did it?”  
“It seemed like a good idea at the time?”  
“Idiot! You really are dense for a genius.”  
“Well, you can’t expect me to be fantastic at everything!”

John had been shaking his head in bemusement, as if he couldn’t quite get his head around ‘Sherlock’ and his obvious insanity, but at that he cracked! He had sat up straight with his arms braced outside Sherlock’s knees, but now his head dropped forward onto the sofa. Interestingly, or at least Sherlock though so, right between Sherlock’s legs. He was shaking his head and laughing like a mad man but all Sherlock really noticed was his head, between his legs, touching him! Nobody had touched him, other than a doctor, anywhere below his waist for over ten years! And then only twice, he had to try male and female to be scientifically sound. He had thought at the time he should have had a bigger sample group but it had been messy and annoying and wholly unpleasant both times so he hadn’t bothered. Right now he decided that any sample group would have been worthless because it wouldn’t have included John, and his noisy, troublesome, easily addicted mind had just decided that John was the new cocaine. At least John was easily acquired and relatively legal. And Lestrade approved of him. 

“Lestrade!”

John sat back, looking even more bemused, at that outburst.

“Huh?”  
“Lestrade! Can I tell him? Ooh! Do I get to rub it in Donovan and Anderson’s faces?”

John’s bemusement turned to understanding, joy and then amusement.

“And it’s as easy as that! Engage your brain and your body is mine! And yes, if it makes you happy you can rub it in with dumb and dumber as much as you like!”

Sherlock smiled beatifically at him. For a high maintenance genius he really was easy to please. And then he yawned. That wasn’t something John was used to seeing on Sherlock, the man really was like a machine most of the time. He had his body trained to eat, sleep and anything else a body usually does automatically when his brain was ready to and not before. John’s smile got just a little bigger.

“Right! Bed. And if you want to annoy dumb and dumber next time we see them, you’d best join me in my bed, there is no way I’m getting in yours, there’s no telling what might be in there.”  
“I know exactly what’s in there!”  
“Yes, but I don’t, and I don’t want too either! Now, bed!”

Sherlock just grinned and as John stood up, leapt from the sofa and ran gratifyingly fast straight to John’s bed, stripping as he went. John thought that was a great idea, so he did the same, he would clean up in the morning, he generally did anyway. By the time John got upstairs and to his room Sherlock was already on his side in his bed with the covers pulled rather endearingly up to his ears. John turned the light out and climbed in on the other side, immediately pulling Sherlock right in to his body, spooning around him. He sighed contentedly and whispered.

“Night love.”  
“Night.”

Sherlock whispered back. John really would have loved to ravish the beautiful man then and there but some things were worth waiting for.

 

CHAPTER TWO.

 

John woke all at once, as he always did, it didn’t pay to wake slowly as a Warrior, in the military or as an Immortal. But this morning he woke content for the first time in a long time. He was warm, safe and most importantly he had Sherlock Holmes wrapped tightly in his arms. He was also hard enough to drive nails and his cock was snugly entrenched between firm buttocks you could bounce a coin off. He was definitely a happy man. Now if only Sherlock would wake up in just as amorous a mood all would be good with the world. Luck was obviously on his side today, as Sherlock soon started stirring, right back onto his cock, and didn’t seem to mind a bit. 

“Morning love,”  
“Mmm, should I get used to that?”  
“Probably, but what, exactly?”  
“Well, both, but I meant you calling me ‘love’.”  
“Ah, yes. Definitely. Though probably not in public.”  
“I wouldn’t mind. Don’t mind the other either.”  
“Good. Though you certainly wont get that in public.”

Sherlock chuckled, a deep rumble that John felt as much as heard. 

“Mmmm, keep that up and I might just have to ravish you!”  
“Best keep it up then, hadn’t I?”

John was definitely a happy man! Taking that as permission he slowly started rocking his hips. Slowly using his hands he started mapping Sherlock’s upper body, memorising each dip and rise, and the reactions he got while touching them. At first Sherlock just laid quietly in his arms, letting him do whatever he wanted, then he decided to get proactive. There was one thing Sherlock had discovered in his experiments; he was, by both accounts, a damn good kisser. He personally put it down to an oral fixation, but he figured it would come in handy right now. So he turned over in John’s arms and put his knowledge to good use while, tentatively to start, thrusting his hips against Johns. They both decided this was a great idea and John improved upon it by pulling Sherlock’s leg up over his hip and getting that much closer. This also gave them both more traction which they put to good use. It wasn’t long before they were both hanging on the precipice, and though Sherlock had a momentary panic at his brain all but shutting down, he soon forgot it when John gave a particularly hard thrust of his hips and did something that should probably be illegal with his tongue, and they both flew over. Sherlock had never been so glad he had met John. Though it was still messy and ultimately pointless Sherlock finally got why people raved about the wonders of sex. He felt bloody amazing! Unfortunately he did not get to wallow in that feeling for as long as he would have liked as John’s phone rang.   
Since John had moved in with him Greg had taken to calling John, he got an answer that way. John groaned but dutifully grabbed his phone from where he had put it on his bedside table the night before and answered it.

“What?”  
“Sorry to wake you John, but we’ve got a proper mental going down here. Some hoity-toitys got broken into last night, six in one night, no chance it was all the same perp but MO’s all exactly the same, obviously a gang. This is the third night in a row and this time they hit a Judge’s house so I’m getting stick from on high. We’ve got enough to go on, we could do it ourselves but not so quick as Sherlock and the boss wants arrests yesterday. He’ll probably be bored but PLEASE try and get him to help? I really need him on this.”

John looked over at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock huffed and took the phone.

“Fine, we’ll be right there. Do you have crime scene photos of everywhere or do we have to go to a scene?”  
“We have a shed-load of photos, I’m sure it wont take you a minute to work it out, no need to go to any of the scenes unless you want to later.”  
“Right, we’ll be there in twenty.”  
“Right. Hang on? I thought I woke John???”

They didn’t hear the rest as Sherlock ended the call, though John was giggling like a schoolboy at Greg’s confusion and imagining his face.

“Oh I bet his face’s a picture right now!”  
“Yes! And so will dumb and dumbers when I kiss you right in front of them!!”  
“Sherlock, just how much of our time at crime scenes will now be spent kissing?”  
“Just enough to REALLY bother those two. Unless it’s really interesting, in which case, just enough to remind them that I have you.”  
“Oh, you have me do you?”  
“Oh yes! This mess proves it, and the fact that I haven’t already cleaned it off proves that you have me too.”

John was a realistic man and had never for one moment thought that Sherlock would suddenly see the ‘error of his ways’ (not that he wanted him to because he loved Sherlock’s ways just as they were) and become a renaissance poet once he realised they were meant for each other, so he was rather pleasantly shocked at that. He couldn’t help the huge grin or leaning in for a deep, long kiss.

“Not that I’m complaining, not for a minute, but what was that for?”  
“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the most amazing, beautiful, wonderful man alive, and you are all mine.”

Sherlock grinned and shook his head, still not really getting it but not caring either, he knew John was happy and that was enough for him. He quickly kissed John, almost chastely, and jumped out of the bed, swiftly moved to the bathroom and cleaned himself off with a cloth then rinsed it and threw it to John who had joined him. Then, just as swiftly, went down to his own room to get dressed. John quickly followed suit and just over twenty minutes later they were in Greg’s office looking at crime scene photos. 

It didn’t take Sherlock any longer to figure it out than Greg had thought it would but he used what little time he had to try and figure out what the hell was happening between Sherlock ‘married to my work’ Holmes and Dr John Watson. He wasn’t a DI for nothing, he might not be as fast or as smart as Sherlock but he wasn’t too far off. Apparently that office pool could finally be finished with. John had clearly snared himself a Sherlock!   
Sherlock finished looking at the photos, told Greg who, what, where and how and was ready to leave. Greg shook his head in his usual silent, muted awe but John wasn’t in the mood to hold back.

“Amazing.”

It was a quiet statement of fact but it bought a huge self-satisfied grin to Sherlock’s face. Greg grinned and couldn’t help commenting.

“Yeah, and congratulations, glad you two finally got it together.”

They both grinned at him. John looked slightly surprised and very happy, and Sherlock just looked smug, until you noticed the glint of pure joy in his eyes. Lestrade nodded to himself, these two would be good for each other. 

“Right! Now, where are Donovan and Anderson? Can I start now or do I have to wait for an actual crime scene? Could be more fun at a scene, you know they’ll both embarrass themselves, but that could embarrass Lestrade, don’t want to chance that, and the anticipation of wondering what if anything we might do at a scene could be just as much fun.”

Greg was touched that Sherlock was actually thinking of him in his calculations; John really was good for him. He had often thought of putting a stop to Anderson and especially Donovan’s bitching and petty snipes but Sherlock genuinely seemed to thrive on the adversarial environment. He would have to remember to have a word with John about it soon, decide between them the best course of action from here on in. Of course, if anyone showed any signs of homophobia he would happily and swiftly come down on them like a tonne of bricks and make their life a living hell. The Force, Scotland Yard and Greg Lestrade in particular would not stand for bigotry in any way, shape or form. John smiled at Lestrade and said.

“We want to get them both together, double your fun, but that could be awkward here, maybe next time they invade the flat, then they only embarrass themselves not Greg.”  
“Mmm, I only have so much patience Lestrade, make it soon, and more interesting than this was. Don’t know why you had to drag us out of bed, who knows what John might have done next? You would have closed it your self by the end of the day, tell your boss to grow a pair and let the Judge’s wait like everyone else. I was debating trying oral or penetrative sex next, and who knows when John will be ‘in the mood’ next? Really, how important are a few burglaries compared to that!?!”

Greg was gob smacked and John had two lovely pink patches over his cheekbones but they were both used to Sherlock saying whatever happened to be on his mind so they traded a look and a shrug and decided that was the end of today’s meeting. 

“Come on then Sherlock, lets get out of the way and let Greg haul in that gang for his boss.”  
“Why? What ‘mood’ are you in? I was thinking of a quick trip to ‘Barts’ on the way home.”

John smirked at him as he led him through the door and the last thing Greg heard was.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, I’ve got a few things to keep you occupied with, you wont get bored!”

Greg couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh at that.

Stepping into the lift to take them back down to the ground floor Sherlock was still musing out loud to himself, John was thankful that anyone they passed just ignored him and took Sherlock’s mumblings to be what they usually were, mumblings that no one else could make head nor tail of.

As the lift doors closed and John knew they would be in the lift alone for a while he took a hold of the front of Sherlock’s coat and pressed him to the lift wall.

“I suppose you think that was amusing? Embarrassing me in front of Lestrade like that?”

“John? I did not mean to cause you embarrassment, I’m sorry if my talking openly about our new relationship upsets you. I shall try to refrain from doing so in the future.” Sherlock genuinely looked a little upset and this was not something John was going to accept

“I know you didn’t love and I’m happy that you want to be so open about our relationship, just try not to be quite so open next time yeah? Cause when you talk like that about us it has a certain affect on me.”

To make his point as clear as possible John snapped his hips forward and ground his swollen cock against the taller man. The penny dropped and a smirk slid itself into place on Sherlock’s face.

“I’m terribly sorry, John I didn’t realise that voicing the fact that I was interested to see if you would have been in the ‘mood’ to have me see if my oral skills are as adequate in other fields as they are in kissing would be a problem.”

Groaning the shorter of the two men snapped his hips forward again pressing his partner as close to the wall as was humanly possible.

“John?”

“Sherlock anything else that comes out of that lovely mouth of yours had better be important otherwise I may just bend you over and take you right now.”

“Would the fact that we have reached the ground floor and the doors are about to open be important enough?”

The doors opened before John had chance to move away from Sherlock and the poor elderly lady that does the tea runs got quite the eyeful of John trying to untangle himself from Sherlock’s coat and straighten himself out.

Striding out of the lift with a bounce in his step, as if nothing had happened, Sherlock turned to the woman and bid her a good morning, following with less of a bounce in his step John nodded towards the woman, although he avoided any eye contact and also bid her good morning.

“You know the lift has an emergency stop button.” She told them before stepping into it herself and disappearing behind the closing doors.

John turned and glared at Sherlock.

“That’s your fault you know?” He hissed blushing what Sherlock had decided was an adorable shade of pink.

Falling back a step so he was walking shoulder to shoulder (as much as was possible) with the shorter man he said in a voice only John could hear.

“It is hardly my fault that, that poor woman caught you tangling yourself up in me because you can’t keep control of your hormones when I tell you such things as I want to feel you sliding into me so slowly that the only thought on my mind is can you not go any faster.”

Before a stunned and now even hornier John could respond Sherlock was already half way out of the building hailing a cab.

Back at 221b baker street.

“No Sherlock, harder.”

“I can’t John, I am likely to injure myself.”

“I don’t care Sherlock, get on with it.”

“But it won’t go in straight.”

“Not my problem, I told you we should have done this later, but noooo you wanted to do it as soon as we got home.”

“Better to get it over and done with, then we can relax.”

“How am I supposed to relax Sherlock? Hmmm?”

“It won’t take long if I can get it to go in straight.”

“You said that 20 minutes ago.”

“Well it won’t take much longer John, if you had allowed me to plan this out properly on paper first then we wouldn’t be having this issue.”

“Sherlock? Shut up.”

“But John…”

“No Sherlock I wasn’t in the mood for this when we got back, I’m still not in the mood for it now.”

With that Mrs Hudson knocked on the door and walked in.

“Oh my boys, what are you doing?”

She was holding a tray with two cups of tea on it and a few biscuits.

John glared at Sherlock in a way that only a trained killer could. Sherlock decided that that look was probably supposed to induce fear not arousal but he could mention that to John later as now didn’t really seem the time.

“Ah Mrs Hudson, clearly we are putting up a shelf so that John can no longer complain about my books, as he puts it, cluttering up the floor.”

“It’s a health hazard Sherlock and I haven’t mentioned it for over a week, why you decided to do it now I’ve no idea!”

Johns voice had climbed a couple of octaves by the time he had finished his sentence, Sherlock was a clever enough man to realise now was not the time to press the issue, he leaned the shelf against the sofa and strode across the room to take the tray from Mrs Hudson.

“Thank you Mrs Hudson, these refreshments will prove to be most useful in the not too distant future, now if you will excuse John and I, there are a few matters that need attending to.”

With that he ushered her out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Placing the tray down on the table her turned to face John who was stood rubbing his fingertips against his temples.

“I apologise John.”

“What on earth for?” John looked up a little surprised by the taller mans statement.

“I was trying to distract you with putting up the shelf because in all honesty I am a little nervous.”

“Oh love I knew you were.” John crossed the small distance between them and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “It’s ok we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you only have to tell me darling.”

“Oh I want to, but when I tried this last I was the one ‘topping’ so I don’t exactly have a wide field of experience in these matters.”

“Well, we’ll take things nice and slowly and see how they progress and….. if at any point you don’t like what we’re doing or how fast things are moving then we can stop ok?”

“Very well, sounds most reasonable John, in which case I suggest we adjourned to your bedroom.”

When John had actually realised what Sherlock had said the dark haired man was already halfway up the stairs having divested his self of his upper clothing, however as soon as he had realised John was quickly following suit.

By the time they got to Johns bedroom door both men were naked from the waist up and their tongues were battling for dominance. Without having to remove more then one of his roaming hands from the gorgeous lithe body underneath them John managed to open the door and guide Sherlock into the room.

Gently guiding him to the bed John eased Sherlock down onto the foot of it and stood up straight. Sherlock really was stunning, black hair in a mess of curls, eyes wide open and gleaming, lips slightly swollen and flushed from their kissing, smooth hairless chest with a defined although not too obvious six pack, Sherlock was gorgeous, not skinny but lithe well toned muscle.

He leaned down and kissed the taller man again more gently then he had before but with no less passion, slowly and cautiously he moved a hand to the top of Sherlock’s waist band.

“May I?”

“Of course, I don’t want you to tear buttons off in a fit of passion.”

John chuckled and began to loosen the buttons on the front of Sherlock’s trousers ensuring he rubbed firmly against the taller mans cock the entire time.

By the time John had all of Sherlock’s buttons undone the taller man was squirming silently underneath him, sitting up John began to pull his trousers down.

Sherlock propped his self up on his elbows and smirked at John in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“You know Dr Watson I think that you are over dressed.”

“Is that right Mr Holmes? Well that can be easily rectified.”

Standing up straight John began to undo his jeans and slide them over his hips, Sherlock was still staring at him eyes widening with each inch that his trousers dropped. Eventually his trousers hit the floor and John figured that was probably just as well because if his trousers had to drop any further he was worried Sherlock’s eyes may well have popped out of his head.

John moved back to the bed and bent down to lay himself across Sherlock once more and began to kiss him slowly. After a few minutes the private detective decided he’d had enough and things needed to move on a little quicker. He wrapped his arms around John, hooked his legs around his waist and ground his hips forward causing them both to hiss at the pleasurable friction it created.

“Getting impatient Sherlock?” John grinned at the man underneath him.

“Yes!” Growled Sherlock. “Now get a move on and fuck me John!”

Leaning back slightly John looked at Sherlock with a little shock and a lot of passion.

“Are you sure Sherlock? I don’t want to push you into doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“John you have exactly 5 minutes before I get up and go to my own room to deal with this.” With that Sherlock thrust his hips up against Johns own so their cocks collided and rubbed together.

“Ok ok love I get the point.”

Getting up and moving to his bedside table John opened the top draw and got out a tube of lube.

“Move further up the bed and take off your boxers.”

For what John thought was the first time ever, Sherlock actually did as he told him to, as soon as Sherlock had situated himself in the middle of the bed John moved so he was led next to him and began to slowly stroke his stomach and hips. Slowly and gently he moved his hands further down and began to slowly but firmly pull on Sherlock’s cock, sliding his hand up and down wringing every feeling from Sherlock that he could.

Eventually he moved his hand lower down between his cheeks and began to slowly circle his finger around the tight ring of muscle.

After a few minutes Sherlock started squirming around and pressing down onto Johns exploring finger. Sitting back on his haunches to face the taller man John opened the cap on the lube and poured a generous amount onto his middle finger before returning in to Sherlock’s opening.

Slowly but surely John managed to work his entire finger into Sherlock’s tight grasping hole. He couldn’t believe how hot and tight Sherlock was and he wanted to slide right into him there and then, but he knew he couldn’t, this was Sherlock’s first time and he had to take things carefully. He was going to ensure that Sherlock loved every moment of it.

Circling his finger inside Sherlock he started to stretch him, just as he was getting ready to introduce a second finger he found Sherlock’s prostate.

“Holy sweet Albert Einstein.”

John laughed, he couldn’t believe it.

“Sherlock love, that was your prostate.”

“I’m well aware of that thank you John, I just didn’t realise it could feel quite that good.”

John laughed again and said nothing just brushed the tip of his finger over the same spot and began sliding another finger in against the first.

A while later John had three fingers pumping in and out of Sherlock’s tight hole and Sherlock himself was writhing around begging John for more.

“Oh John.” “Yes more.” “Harder John harder!!!”

Soon enough John decided he had stretched his eager partner well enough and withdrew his fingers, earning him a whine of displeasure.

“Hmmppfff John why have you stopped?”

“Because love I think you are ready for me now and I needed to get one of these.”

John held up a condom as he moved back onto the bed.

“Why do you need one of those? Are you unclean?”

“No I have always been safe, but I know you Sherlock and you don’t like anything that’s unsanitary.”

“That is considerate, however if neither yourself nor I carry any diseases I would much prefer our first time at least, be natural, I think I've shown I can deal with the mess.”

This earned Sherlock a kiss. John swept down taking hold of the dark haired man and kissed him with all the love and passion he could muster.

“Lie back again love.”

And, for the second time that day, Sherlock did as he was told.

Picking up the lube again John squeezed a generous amount on to his palm and spread it over his cock, then he laid himself above Sherlock, though not so he’d crush him, and placed the head of his cock at his lovers entrance.

John pushed forward slowly and relentlessly until the head of his cock broke through Sherlock’s tight ring of muscle.

Sherlock felt as if he were about to be split into two, Johns cock felt huge there was no way the entirety of Johns cock was going to fit up his ass, yet John still kept pushing forward and any minute now poor Sherlock was going to…. Oh oh oh and there was that spot again. John hit that spot that made him forget about the slight burning feeling, forget about how big John felt, stars burst behind his eyelids and Sherlock could feel the world slowly pulling it’s self into alignment.

Gradually picking up speed John began to pump in and out of Sherlock hitting his prostate on almost every thrust.

Feeling his climax racing upon him John put his weight onto his left arm and snaked a hand between his and Sherlock’s bodies, he could feel his lover clenching around him and knew he wouldn’t last long either.

With one more pull on his cock Sherlock started cumming. He closed his eyes and could feel John kissing him, he kissed back as best he could but he felt as if his eyes were about to roll back in his head, his nerve endings were singing and his head was an explosion of white noise.

With the feel of his lover clamping around his cock John couldn’t hold off his orgasm a second longer, he bent down to kiss Sherlock, cumming harder then he could ever remember in his life (and he’d had a fairly long life).

A few moments later John gently pulled himself out of Sherlock and led down next to him pulling him in close and wrapping his arms tightly around him. John was happy, not ‘life could be worse so I’ll make the best of it’ happy, but really truly heartfelt happy, he was alive, he was in love and he had Sherlock.

Sherlock, for the first time possibly ever, didn’t have a head full of thoughts or questions, of ponderings or worries. He wasn’t even bothered by the fluid he could feel beginning to leak out of him. Sherlock was happy, not ‘I’ve solved a case I’m brilliant’ happy but really happy. He would not grow old alone, he wasn’t sure if he could grow old at all at this moment in time but that wasn’t important, he was loved, and he was loved by John.

Snuggling in to John as close as he could Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and just before he dozed off he mumbled something that was barely audible but John heard it just the same.

“Love you John.”

 

Perfectus.


End file.
